


The Night

by AntaresNull



Category: Original Work
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lesbian Relationship, Murder, Mythology - Freeform, Partners in Crime, Supernatural - Freeform, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 10:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18990958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresNull/pseuds/AntaresNull
Summary: Life is full of surprises.  Sometimes you wake up and get ready for work.Sometimes work is murder.





	The Night

O ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ O

Laina didn't move when I laid down in the bed next to her, nor when I spooned up behind her and slipped my arm around her, pulling her in close.

“Time to wake up,” I murmured, putting soft kisses across her bare shoulder. She grumbled and tried to worm away, but I held her tight.

“Te'mr minnis,” she mumbled, trying to pull the blanket up over her head.

“You said 'ten more minutes' twenty minutes ago,” I said, though she was already snoring again. I pulled my arm from around her and ran it up under the blanket, letting my hand glide over tantalizingly smooth skin. I was still puzzled but not upset by her odd habit of sleeping in the nude. I let my fingers drag over very sensitive areas, places she would not complain about having teased if she weren't half-asleep. She tried to wiggle away again, burrowing her head into her pillow.

“'S too soon.”

“Then you had best get up before I go for more,” I whispered in her ear before nipping her earlobe, further halting her retreat into the land of sleep. “It's time to get up and we must get moving while the night is still young.”

I had been up for perhaps an hour and was already prepared for our benighted venture. She rolled over with a grumble and swiped at a mostly dried line of drool on her cheek. I propped myself up on my elbow and made to get up, but she stopped me in my tracks. Her arm snaked from beneath the blanket and wrapped around my waist. But what really got me was when she nuzzled in against my neck; I'm such a sucker for that.

“You smell nice,” Laina said with a great huff of a sigh. Now awake, her words no longer slurred but touched with her absolutely adorable Southern twang. I relented and laid down fully next to her, pulling her into an embrace.

“That's generally the idea, love,” I said, stroking her wavy platinum locks. We laid there for a moment in the dark silence, content to simply be as we were. Laina finally rolled out of bed after laying several kisses on my throat—which I'm also a complete sucker for—and found her way into a pair of panties and previously discarded pajama bottoms.  
  
Our home was a small one, but it was ours. The hallway from the one of two bedrooms led to a bathroom at the other end, a small but cozy front room to one side and the kitchen-slash-dining room behind a door on the other. Laina ducked into the restroom as first order of business while I moved to the parlor. I resumed my previously vacated armchair and picked up my book, opening to the black ribbon bookmark. While some of the effect was lost in using a ribbon to mark a spot in a worn paper-back, I still enjoyed doing it; even if it was a Christopher Moore novel.

I was snickering about the undead residents of San Francisco and an army of undead cats when Laina emerged from the restroom with teeth brushed and bladder voided. She had found a t-shirt labeled handily with the phrase “These aren't pig-tails, they're handlebars.”

“You're wearing that?” I asked with a quick glance upward before returning to the page, ignoring the bird she flew at me. She proceeded on to the kitchen, lured by the smell of fresh coffee. A moment passed and she returned to perch on the arm of my chair, hot cup of joe cradled in her hands. I looked up and was not completely surprised to see the pensiveness on her face as she stared into its murky depths. I set my book aside and gazed up at her; waiting.

“Wasn't sure how to make this one,” she said quietly, taking a sip of the black liquid, pulling a slight face at the taste. “Black, two sugars. Daddy drinks it that way. I never had, 'til now. Thought I'd give it a shot.”

“How is it?” I asked, realizing how profound a moment this might be for her. Laina seemed to struggle with her words for a moment.  
  
“It's, eh, coffee, I reckon.” She took another sip, made another face and leaned over to set it on a small, nearby end table. I slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her into the chair, onto my lap. She linked her arms around my neck and rested her cheek against the side of my head.

“Do you regret it?” I asked plainly. Her answer would not have upset me if she had said yes, I would have understood completely if she was having second thoughts about the now-fragile place she held in the world. She replied by tilting my chin up and kissing me. There was nothing sexual about it, or even anything overly-passionate about it. It was the kiss that is shared by partners in quiet moments of mutual reassurance. The kiss that said “silence your fool tongue, we're here and that's what matters.”

“Never,” she said, “it's just a weird kind'a mixed-bag. There's so much ahead of me, of us, but there's so much that's gonna go away, too.” Our eyes met and locked. I had suspected it before, but I fully realized it now; that I was powerless to this girl. I was around her little finger as much as she was around mine. “I'm just nervous, I guess. Excited, too.” I twined the fingers of my left hand with hers and brought her hand to my mouth, pressing my lips to her fingers.

“I'd have been surprised if you weren't, this is kind of a big deal,” I said with a small sigh. “It has to happen, one way or another and I'd prefer it to be a controlled and in-hand experience rather than one you can't handle.” Laina nodded solemnly, the gravity of the situation laying on her shoulders. Silence crept over us as time continued its inexorable march forward, the ticking of the clock almost thunderous in our quiet slice of life. I squeezed her in my arms one last time before giving her a pat on the bottom. “We must away, _preţios._ Go get ready.” She kissed me again before slipping out of my arms to change into something, if not appropriate, at least more presentable.

“I'm still gon' miss coffee, though,” she said with a heavy sigh as she walked away. I huffed a quiet laugh through my nose and picked up my book again, hoping for another laugh to calm my nerves. I'd been doing this for a while and I still get the jitters.

O ~ o ~ O 

Revaz Afolayan had it all.

His father, a wealthy business owner in New York, kept a steady flow of cash to all of his children and relatives. Revaz had lived in lavishness all of his life, spending money he had not earned on whatever he wished; expensive cars that he drove once before retiring, drugs to keep him happy, and women to do the same. Decadence personified.

In a dark and bouncing club that he had forgotten the name of, Revaz bent over a highly polished silver tray decorated with lines of white powder, snorting for all he was worth—which wasn't much. He suppressed a sneeze and swiped violently at his schnoz, trying to get as much of the fine china into his system as he could handle. He was never sure as to why he came to clubs like this; he could just as easily pick a woman up off the street and offer her a bribe afterward, he had done it before.

He cast bleary eyes across the dark room pulsing with neon and pounding with some sort of techno trash. The people he had surrounded himself with—his “friends,” his hangers-on—were passing the tray around, some partaking and some leaving the table to go throw up, some not even leaving the table to do that. How dare they? How fucking dare they? That was his, his that he had bought with his fathers money. Money that was quickly drying up.

For years, Bahman Afolayan had turned a blind eye to his eldest sons activities, but could no longer stomach the person he had let his son become. The straw that had broken the camels back had been when Revaz had killed a woman in one of his drug-fueled fugues. Bahman had paid off the local authorities with an incredibly handsome donation, but informed his son that times were due to change.

And here was Revaz, in one final bender, one final hurrah to spit in his fathers face. To say that he did not need his fathers money, that he had people at his back.

These people at the table whose names he could not remember.

Revaz's vision went black for a length of time of which he could not be certain. He was alone at the table, but the club was still pounding with life and lust and debauchery.

And they had taken his heroin. The fuckers.

He staggered from his seat toward the bar, knowing that alcohol would at least help his diminishing buzz until he could find someone with cheap pills. He almost made it to the stool when someone was at his arm. A very pretty and young someone.

“Ya look like ya could use a drink,” the young woman said, offering a glass of dark liquor. She smiled very prettily, her teeth as white and straight as her platinum hair that hung over one shoulder in a flowing curtain. Revaz smiled back and imagined himself roguish and dashing when in reality that smile would have sent any sensible being—man or woman or animal—running for the hills.  
  
“And you look like you could use some company,” Revaz replied, taking the glass and knocking it back in one slug. The pretty young thing on his arm giggled and led him back to his just-vacated table.

“You stay here, I'll get'cha another one, stud,” she said with a grin and a wink before sashaying off, short skirt swaying with her hips. Revaz would have watched her walk away, greed gleaming in his eyes, but he'd spotted a small pile of powder hidden under a discarded napkin.

His buzz was coming back up as she returned, another full tumbler of black nectar in her hand. Revaz wiped at his blurred sight, hardly believing what he was seeing. His future play-toy had a friend; a friend that glowed like polished ivory with hair so dark it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. She could have just stepped from an old silent movie save for the ruby stain of her lips. They sat down together on either side of him, his drink pushed into his hands.

“So, what's your name, hot stuff?” Blondie asked, grinning like she was looking at her prize-winning pig at a county fair.

“Revaz-z,” the pig slurred, “Who 'er you?”

“I'm Laina,” she said with a small laugh, “and this is my friend, Morana.” She reached across Revaz and laid her hand on the other girls arm, tracing lightly down snow white skin to lock fingers with her friend. The gesture said something intimate; something either stemming from lowered inhibitions or meaning something more. Revaz liked where this was going. “We really just wanted to meet you. Ya looked like a guy who has what we're lookin' for,” Laina said an almost apologetic tone in her voice.

“The pleasure is all ours,” Morana said smiling, her voice smoother than wine on silk. Where Laina's smile promised a certain charming innocence retained in spite of hardship, Morana's smile was a much darker thing. The scarlet-painted curve of a blade, the temptresses greatest weapon, dangerous and delightful.

“Oh, the pleas-hure will be all-l _ours_ soon a'nuff,” Revaz chuckled. He pulled out his wallet—which he kept packed with hundred dollar bills that he never spent—and made a big show of throwing a handful of twenties on the table. “Let's blow this scene so y'two can blow somethin' else.” That line had only ever failed Revaz once—even when combined with the wallet full of cash—and his father had paid to make the result of it go away. Both Laina and Morana laughed.

“I like 'im, he was a good choice,” Laina said to her companion. Morana only replied with a nod, her eyes fixed on Revaz, promising raw and powerful things. Revaz stood and felt his knees start to buckle and he swayed dangerously, his vision darker than it had been before. Lights pulsed around him and behind his eyes. He felt as though something monsterous had taken hold of his feet and was swinging him around in great arcs for as dizzy as he felt. He took a step and slammed into the table, falling back into his seat. He could hear himself speaking, even if he couldn't feel his mouth making the words.  
  
“Le's get- Lets...go, before...”

O ~ o ~ O 

Revaz had woken in much more compromising positions before, but this one was definitely up there.

For one, he was in a room that he did not recognize; nothing terribly unusual. He found rooms in his miniature Californian palace that he had not known existed. For two, he was bound and gagged—again, not unusual—but the method of his binding was very unusual. Revaz was hanging by his ankles from the ceiling by means he was unsure of, he could not muster the strength to bend and see. To further complicate the situation, he was bound ankle to shoulder in plastic saran wrap and could do no more than wriggle and make his cellophane bindings crinkle.

To further compound in his mind how fucked he was, he knew that Father Afolayan would not be there to bail him out again.

He heard the creak of a door opening and then closing behind him. He tried to crane around to see, but it was for naught, his abductor walked around him to stand in front of him and faced him, eye to breast.

“Comfy?” Laina asked, bending down slightly to look him in the eyes, resting her hands on her knees, “Cozy?” She grinned with that mouthful of perfectly straight and even teeth. Revaz wanted to break them with his fist, even though he knew deep in his mind he would not have been able. Nearly fifteen years of hedonistic drug and alcohol abuse had left him with withered musculature and a gut that would have put his younger, fitter self into a suicidal depression.

Revaz was about to growl out the approximation of a threat around the duct tape when he heard the door open and shut again before the voice of the other sounded behind him.

“You shouldn't speak to him, even to taunt. His final purpose is nearly fulfilled and he should be treated with respect, even if he is a worthless piece of shit.” Her voice was coated in gentle admonishment at first, hardening as she described Revaz. In his line of sight, he saw Laina straighten up, her face guilty. She walked around behind him and though he craned around to try and see, he could not. Quietly murmured words that he could not make out were exchanged.

Footsteps sounded and he heard the rustle of cloth as someone approached him from behind. A pale, slender-fingered hand appeared in his vision, her nails the same ruby red as her lips. The hand grasped his chin and forced his head back so that he was almost staring at the floor. Something flashed in the corner of his eye; another red-nailed hand rising, holding a long, thin, razor-sharp knife.

Revaz felt his already pounding heart thunder into overdrive and he thrashed in his bonds. Though his body jerked and strained against the tightly-wrapped plastic, he could not move his head or neck. Both stayed firmly in place as though he were trapped in a vice. He felt the edge of the blade against his neck, cold steel on his cold sweat-soaked skin. In his final moment of panicked desperation, Revaz thought he felt a pair lips his neck; a soft kiss left in their absence with a quiet whisper.

“Your gift is accepted. Be at peace.”

So fine was the knife edge that Revaz did not feel it part his skin and put his throat to ruin. Blood poured up his neck and chin, slicking over his face to drip on the floor below; a puddle and then a small pool of crimson forming below him in a shallow basin on the floor. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision and encroached further in, taking him down the black tunnel that all must travel eventually. The final sight Revaz took with him was that of hazy figures, one white and one black, bent over the last part of his life that was worth anything to anyone.

O ~ o ~ O 

If one were to find themselves unaccompanied and unescorted in the small house owned by two young but fairly strange women, one would find curious insights into their life.

The parlor—as some may call it—lacked a television, but the walls were lined with tall bookshelves and positively stuffed to the gills with books of all sizes and bindings. However, sitting on the low coffee table amongst books and empty glasses was a hand-held video game system; quietly charging in its own little cradle; sleek and black amidst the old, polished wood that dominated much of the room.

The restroom was old-fashioned with a claw-foot bathtub, a small silver basin, and a mirror with a crenellated frame of alabaster. A modern touch was present, however, in the form of a wide painting of koi fish; created by the younger of the two women.

The kitchen, formerly in use, was now bare; dust gathering on all surfaces. The power had been cut for the entire room, but the refrigerator continued to hum quietly in one corner, provided life by a long extension cord cleverly hidden by a bookshelf in the parlor. Its contents are precious and must be kept in a very stable chill

Down the hall are the two bedrooms, one on either side. The room on the left held a small, but comfortable bed intended for one person, though two could fit if they didn't mind being very close. Cardboard boxes sit in the corners, some open and dug through, others yet to have their packing tape seals broken. A window overlooks the small backyard, a tiny decorative pond sits to one side with a small bubbling waterfall meant to relax the senses.

The second bedroom has no windows. The second bedroom has no lights. The second bedroom is devoid of decoration and furniture. Should one find themselves in this room, whether navigating by flashlight or feel—if one were brave enough—a highly decorated box would be found in the center of the room. Roughly six feet long by three feet wide and two feet tall, carved from dark ebony, its edges lined with silver. Upon opening the coffin, if one still felt brave, two young women would be discovered; huddled close beneath a thick blanket and sharing the same over-stuffed pillow.

Beneath the blanket, beneath the occupants and the bedding material upon which they lay, at the very bottom of the coffin were several pounds of dirt, tamped down flat and even.

Half of it came from a small family-owned farm in rural Alabama.

The other half came from a historically significant province in central Romania. A place sometimes called “The Land beyond the Forest.”

O ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ O

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a smaller background lore piece of something much larger that I've been working on for the past three years or so. Maybe if I can actually get around to finishing it, I'll get published and y'all can read it!


End file.
